The Bridesmaid's Baby Bump (13 page)

‘You laughed at something I said and looked up at me with those incredible blue eyes and I fell right into them.’

‘I remember that moment,’ she said slowly. ‘It felt like time suddenly stopped. The wedding was going on all around me, and all I could think of was how smitten I was with you.’

‘But I was too damn tied up with protecting myself to let myself recognise it,’ he said.

‘Just as well, really,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t ready for something so life-changing then. And you certainly weren’t.’

‘You could look at it that way. Or you could see that we wasted a lot of time.’

‘Then the baby complicated things.’

‘Yes,’ he said.

The spectre of that dreadful contract hovered between them.

‘Your pregnancy brought out my old fears,’ he said. ‘I’d chosen not to be a father because I don’t know
how
to be a father. I had no role model. My uncle lived in the Northern Territory and I rarely saw him. My grandfather tried his best to be a male influence in my life but he was quite old, and suffering from the emphysema that eventually killed him.’

She nodded with realisation. ‘You were
scared
to be a father.’

‘I was
terrified
I’d be a bad father.’

‘Do you still think that way?’

‘Not so much.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of you,’ he said. ‘I know you’re going to be a brilliant mother, Eliza. That will help me to be the best father I can be to our child.’

‘Thank you for the vote of confidence,’ she said a little shakily. ‘But I’ll have to
learn
to be a mother. We’ll
both
have to learn to be parents. And I know our daughter will have the most wonderful daddy who—’

‘Our
daughter
?’

Eliza snatched her hand to her mouth. ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell you. I had another ultrasound last week.’

For the first time Jake placed his hand reverently on her bump. ‘A little girl...’ he said, his voice edged with awe. ‘My daughter.’

For a long moment Eliza looked up at Jake, taking in the wonder and anticipation on his face.

‘So...so where does that leave us?’ she asked finally.

‘I’m withdrawing my offer of marriage,’ he said.

‘
What?
’

Jake looked very serious. ‘It was more a command than a proposal. I want to do it properly.’

‘Do
what
properly?’

But she thought she might know what. Hope flew into her mind like a tiny bird and flew frantically around, trilling to be heard.

‘Propose,’ he said.

Jake cradled her face in his big, strong hands. His green eyes looked intently down into hers.

‘Eliza, I love you. Will you marry me? Do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

She didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes, Jake, yes. Nothing would make me happier than to be your wife. I love you.’

Now was the time to kiss. He gathered her into his arms and claimed her mouth. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back, her heart singing with joy. She loved him and she wanted him and now he was hers. No way would she be alone in that palatial guest apartment tonight.

Jake broke away from the kiss. Then came back for another brief kiss, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He reached inside his jacket to an inside pocket. Then pulled out a small embossed leather box and flipped it open.

Eliza was too stunned to say anything, to do anything other than stare at the huge, perfect solitaire diamond on a fine platinum band, glinting in the faint silver light of the new moon. He picked up her hand and slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. It fitted perfectly.

‘I love it,’ she breathed. ‘Where did you get—?’

‘In London.’

‘But—’

‘I was planning to propose in Sydney. But then Tristan invited me here.’

‘Back to where it started.’

He kissed her again, a kiss that was tender and loving and full of promise.

‘Can we get married as soon as possible?’ he asked.

She paused. ‘For the baby’s sake?’

‘To make you my wife and me your husband. This is about us committing to each other, Eliza. Not because you’re pregnant. The baby is a happy bonus.’

‘So what happens about the contract once we’re married?’

‘That ill-conceived contract? After I left you at the elevator I went back to the meeting room and tore my copy up. Then I fired my lawyer for giving me such bad advice.’

She laughed. ‘I put my copy through the shredder.’

‘We’ll be brilliant parents without any need for that,’ he said.

‘I love you, Jake,’ she said, rejoicing in the words, knowing she would be saying them over and over again in the years to come.

‘I love you too, Eliza.’ He lowered his head to kiss her again.

‘Eliza, are you okay? We were worried—’

Andie’s voice made both Eliza and Jake turn.

‘Oh,’ said Andie. Then,
‘Oh...’
again, in a very knowing way.

Gemma was there too. She smiled. ‘I can see you’re okay.’

‘Very okay,’ Eliza said, smiling her joy. She held out her left hand and splayed her fingers, the better to display her ring. ‘We’re engaged. For real engaged.’

Andie and Gemma hugged her and Jake, accompanying their hugs with squeals of excitement and delight. Then Dominic and Tristan were there, slapping Jake on the back and hugging her, telling her they were glad she’d come to her senses and that they hoped she realised what a good man she’d got.

‘Oh, I realise, all right,’ she said, looking up at Jake. ‘I couldn’t think of a better man to be my husband and the father of my child.’

‘You got the best man,’ said Jake with a grin.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
HE
BEAUTY
OF
having your own party planning business, Eliza mused, was that it was possible to organise a wedding in two weeks flat without cutting any corners.

Everything was perfect, she thought with satisfaction on the afternoon of her wedding day. They’d managed to keep her snaring of ‘the Billionaire Bachelor’ under the media radar. So she and Jake were getting the quiet, intimate wedding they both wanted without any intrusion from the press.

It had been quite a feat to keep it quiet. After all, not only was the most eligible bachelor in Australia getting married, but the guest list of close family and friends included royalty.

Andie had found a fabulous waterfront house at Kirribilli as their venue. The weather was perfect, and the ceremony was to be held on the expansive lawns that stretched right down to the harbour wall, with the Opera House and Sydney Harbour Bridge as backdrop.

It really was just as she wanted it, Eliza thought as she stood with her father at the end of the veranda. Andie had arranged two rows of elegant white bamboo chairs to form an aisle. Large white metal vases filled with informal bunches of white flowers marked the end of each row of seats.

Now, the chairs were all filled with guests, heads turned, waiting for the bride to make her entrance. Everyone she cared about was there, including Jake’s mother, whom she’d liked instantly.

Ahead, Jake stood flanked by his best man, Dominic, and his groomsman Tristan, at one side of the simple white wedding arch completely covered in white flowers where the celebrant waited. On the other side stood her bridesmaids, Andie and Gemma. A jazz band played softly. When it struck up the chords of the traditional ‘Wedding March’, it was Eliza’s cue to head down the aisle. On the back of a white pony named Molly—her father’s wedding gift to her.

Her vintage-inspired, full-skirted tea-length gown hadn’t really been chosen with horseback-riding in mind. But when her father had reminded her of how as a little girl she had always wanted to ride to her wedding on her pony, she had fallen for the idea. Andie had had hysterics, but eventually caved in.

‘I really hope we can carry this off, Dad,’ Eliza said now, as her father helped her up into the side saddle.

‘Of course you can, love,’ he said. ‘You’re still the best horsewoman I know.’

Amazing how a wedding and a baby could bring families together, she thought. Her father had mellowed and their rift had been healed—much to her mother’s joy. Now Eliza was seated on Molly and her father was leading the pony by a lead-rope entwined with white ribbons down the grassy aisle. There was no ‘giving away’ of the bride as part of the ceremony. She and Jake were giving themselves to each other.

Her entrance was met with surprised delight and the sound of many cameras clicking.

Jake didn’t know about her horseback entrance—she’d kept it a secret. ‘Brilliant,’ he whispered as he helped her off Molly and into his arms. ‘Country girl triumphs.’

But once the novelty of her entrance was over, and her father had led Molly away, it was all about Jake and her.

They had written the words of the ceremony themselves, affirming their love and respect for each other and their commitment to a lifetime together as well as their anticipation of being parents. Her dress did nothing to disguise her bump—she hadn’t wanted to hide the joyous presence of their miracle baby.

Everything around her seemed to recede as she exchanged her vows with Jake, looking up into his face, his eyes never leaving hers. Their first kiss as husband and wife went on for so long their friends starting applauding.

‘I love you,’ she whispered, just for his ears.

‘For always and for ever,’ he whispered back.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
BOUND BY THE UNBORN BABY
by Bella Bucannon.

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Bound by the Unborn Baby

by Bella Bucannon

CHAPTER ONE

T
HIRD
DOOR
ON
the left. Why the hell hadn’t he given in to his original instinct, phoned the hotel with a refusal, then binned the short letter hand-delivered to his office? He’d never heard of Alina Fletcher—didn’t have the time or energy for enigmatic invitations.

Except one phrase, vaguely referring to his family, had captured his interest five weeks after his sister and brother-in-law had died in Barcelona, less than two since his second trip to Spain regarding their estate.

He felt drained. Flying overseas and coping with local authorities while handling the glitches regarding his latest hotel acquisition had been exhausting. The basic Spanish he’d acquired on other trips had helped; deprivation of sleep didn’t. He desperately needed a break to enable him to grieve for Louise, and for Leon, who’d been his best friend since primary school. Any additional angst was definitely unwelcome.

The open doorway allowed him a clear view of the woman facing the window. Slim build. Medium height. Short dark brown hair. His gaze slid rapidly over a sky-blue jacket and trousers to flat shoes. Unusual in this time of killer heels.

‘Ms Fletcher?’ He was curter than he’d intended, influenced by a hard clench low in his abdomen.

She turned slowly and his battered emotions were rocked even more. Pain-filled eyes underlined with dark smudges met his. Widened. Shuttered. Reopened, clear and steady. Whatever had flickered in their incredible violet depths had banished his lethargy. His dormant libido kicked in, tightening his stomach muscles, accelerating his pulse.

Inappropriate. Inexcusable.

‘Ethan James? Thank you for agreeing to meet me.’

No welcoming smile. Did he detect a slight accent? He’d have to hear more—wanted to hear more.

He cleared his throat. ‘Did I have a choice?’ Moving forward with extended hand, he frowned at her hesitation.
She
was the one who’d requested the meeting.

After a cool, brief touch she gestured to the seating. ‘Coffee? Black and strong?’

His eyes narrowed at her assumption of his preference, flicked to the wedding ring she wore. Married. Why did he care? The perfume she wore didn’t suit her. Too strong. Too exotic. He wasn’t thinking clearly—hadn’t been since that devastating early-morning phone call.

‘What do you want?’ No games. Either she told him the reason they were here or he walked. ‘You’ve got two minutes to convince me to stay.’

She met his glare unwaveringly. ‘Then you’d better start reading.’ Perching on the front of an armchair, she pushed a buff-coloured folder along the low table before pouring coffee into a cup.

His muscles tensed. She appeared confident, was counting on him thinking he’d always wonder if he left without an explanation. He grudgingly picked up the unnamed folder and sat, stretching out his long legs.

Once she’d placed the drink in front of him she took a book from the bag by her side and settled into the chair to read.

He pulled the file out, glanced at the front sheet—and his already shattered world tilted beyond reality. He flipped the pages, studied the signatures. Scowled at the seemingly composed female ignoring him. A fist of ice clamped his gut. His heart pounded. Not true. Not believable. Though the signatures were genuine. He’d seen enough of them in the last few weeks to be absolutely certain.

Why?
There’d been no indication.

He reached for his coffee, drained the hot liquid in one gulp while glancing at Alina Fletcher. Not so serene on further scrutiny. The fingers on her left hand were performing a strange ritual. Starting with the littlest, they curled one by one into her palm, with her thumb folding over the top. Dancelike, the movement was repeated every few seconds.

Nervous? She damn well ought to be, hitting him with this out of the blue. He gave a derisive grunt. He’d have been blindsided however she’d informed him.

Reverting to the opening document, he meticulously perused every paragraph.

Alina automatically flicked the blurred pages of her book, her fingers trembling. Her thoughts were in turmoil. This encounter ought to have been straightforward. She’d come to Sydney, acquaint the brother with the situation, and then they’d discuss options in a businesslike fashion. Instead she’d tensed at the timbre of his formal greeting, been slow to take his hand, shaken by her quickening heartbeat.

Please, please, let it be hormonal.

The best scenario was that he’d concur with the logical solution. She’d return to Europe and they’d communicate amicably via email or phone. Living alone would be no hardship. She only shared accommodation when it was required by an employer and rarely maintained friendships, even those forged from seasonal reunions. No roots. No ties. Liking co-workers was a plus. None had been able to break through the wall staying sane had compelled her to build.

She still wasn’t sure what had drawn her to Louise on their early irregular meetings. Perhaps an empathy that had enabled her to see behind the sparkling personality and glimpse the hidden sorrow? A feeling that she was a kindred spirit? Seeing the loving relationship Louise had shared with Leon? She’d often thought of them while travelling. Four months ago fate had brought them together at a critical time for Louise, a soul-searching one for her.

She’d stayed away from the funeral service in Barcelona for her own sake, needing time to decide what to do. Contacting Ethan James while he was arranging for his relatives to be transported to Australia for burial would have been insensitive. It was, however, the honourable thing to do now. In the end the only thing she believed would ensure her future peace of mind.

Until she’d looked into those cobalt eyes with their thick black lashes—so like Louise’s, except dulled with sadness and fatigue. Unwarranted, almost forgotten heat sensations had flared low in her belly. Immediately squashed.
Never again.
She’d barely survived before—sometimes felt she hadn’t.

During the last year she’d slowly,
so
slowly, begun to open up a little to people. Now she was caught in a different nightmare, with far-reaching consequences. It all depended on the man intently scanning the papers she’d given him.

She approved of his neatly trimmed dark hair, his long fingers with well-shaped clean nails. His no-frills attitude to her letter. Leon had described him as astute, pragmatic, and extremely non-sentimental in business. Personally reserved. The very qualities she needed right now.

She sipped her mint tea, praying her guest would agree to her suggestion. Her skin still prickled from his oh-so-fleeting touch. A hint of earthy cologne teased her nostrils every time she inhaled. Unusual and unfamiliar. Definitely not one of the brands she’d sold working in a department store in Rome last summer.

The tension in the room heightened. She looked up, encountered cold, resolute scrutiny, a grim mouth and firmly set jaw. Did he intend to dispute her claim? In October he’d have all the proof he’d require.

Ethan saw fear chase the sadness from her eyes, swiftly replaced by pseudo-cool detachment.

‘You’re carrying their child.’ He didn’t doubt the validity of the documents. They were legal, watertight contracts—somewhat alien to his carefree relatives. ‘Why?’

‘Three early miscarriages with no medical explanation. No trouble with conception. Surrogacy offered them a way to have a baby of their own.’ She spoke precisely, as if she’d rehearsed every word.

He swore quietly, fervently. Why hadn’t they told him? There’d been no hint of a problem on any of his visits. Or had he been too focused on his growing business empire to notice?

Anger at lost opportunities gnawed at him. Guilt at missing any change in Louise’s demeanour flooded him. The urge to strike out was strong. Pity the only one in the firing line happened to be the messenger.

‘Why the secrecy? Why
you
?’ He ground the words out violently.

She didn’t flinch, though faint colour tinged her cheeks. Crossing her arms, she lifted her chin. ‘I offered. My choice. My reasons.’

Something in her tone warned him not to pursue the subject. Fine—he’d accept the simplified statement for now. Coming to terms with being uncle to an unborn child conceived by his dead sister and her husband, carried by a stranger, took precedence.

‘When’s the child due? Did they know?’ A myriad of questions buzzed in his brain, making it impossible to prioritise.

‘Late October. I’m nine weeks. We did a pregnancy test together.’ Her lips trembled. Her gaze shifted to the wall behind him. ‘They were so incredibly happy for a few days. Until that goods van smashed into them at that outdoor café.’

Her tortured eyes met his. Anguish ripped through him on hearing those mind-numbing words spoken in her tremulous voice. He knew. He’d received the international call, read the reports. Seen photographs of the mangled wreckage.

Suddenly he craved solitude. And space. He wanted to run from this woman, escape from her predicament. Forget everything and crawl into a cave like a wounded animal to lick his wounds and recover.

Not going to happen.

He ought to stay, talk more. Get more details. How could he? She exacerbated his torment.

Jamming the file into the folder, he stood up. Alina stayed in her seat, her eyes a mixture of sorrow and perplexity, making him feel like a louse. He pulled his mobile from his inside pocket.

‘I need time to take all this in. Give me your number. I’ll phone you tomorrow.’

She told him, including the Spanish code. ‘You can leave a message at Reception so you won’t get charged international rates.’

Ethan let out a short, half-choked laugh. She appeared genuinely concerned at the thought of him paying the fees—something his company did every day. ‘I can stand the cost.’

A soft blush coloured her cheeks. His gut twisted in remorse.

She rose to her feet, proudly defiant, tightly clasping her book. ‘I appreciate what a shock this is. If there’d been an easier way to tell you, I’d—’

‘There wasn’t. Goodbye, Ms Fletcher.’ He spun round and strode out.

The tension drained from Alina’s muscles, to be replaced by frightening awareness. Alien. Alarming. His aura still filled the room, surrounding her, challenging her resolve. Threatening what little stability she had.

She tried to equate this barely held together man with the sharp, on-the-ball tycoon described to her. The one who’d always managed to extricate the two friends from escapades usually instigated by the younger one. The one who’d transformed a failing local travel centre into the multimillion-dollar Starburst hotel and tourism empire.

The man she’d just watched hurriedly exit seemed to be operating on stretched nerves.

Pouring another cup of tea, she reproached herself for bringing more trauma into his life, but knew she’d had no choice. The realisation that she’d been banking on him taking charge, relieving her of all major decisions, hit home. She squeezed her eyes shut, stemming the tears. He hadn’t rebuffed her completely. There was still hope.

She pictured Louise sobbing in the café the day after the specialist had advised her that any more pregnancies might be detrimental to her health. She recalled walking her home, talking with her, learning about her society-obsessed parents’ rigid attitude to social status.

Her sympathy for Leon’s and Louise’s plight, and her strong desire to help had been understandable; the solution that had popped into her mind had been astounding. And terrifying.

After two days of intense soul-searching she’d offered to be a surrogate. Their initial refusal had given way to grateful acceptance in light of their limited options. Over a supper of fruit, cheese and dips, washed down with local wine, they’d conceived the perfect plan. Almost foolproof. They hadn’t counted on brake failure destroying their hopes in the cruellest way possible.

She stroked her stomach.
Their
baby—not hers. She was simply a cocoon. In October she’d have given birth to their son or daughter and then stepped away, allowing them to experience fully the delights and dramas of parenthood.

Ethan
must
consent to her plan. This tiny new life inside her deserved the love and happiness its new family would have shared. Ethan, rather than his parents, was her preferred choice. If they all chose not to... Well, then she’d have to confront and conquer her demons.

Gathering up her belongings, she went to her room, hoping the television would prevent her thoughts from straying to tomorrow’s call. And its maker.

* * *

She was window-shopping along George Street when her phone rang late the next morning.

‘Alina?’

Spoken with a slightly different emphasis, as if personal to him. Silly idea. He’d given her the impression he considered her an intrusive dilemma.

‘Sorry I didn’t call earlier. I’ve been juggling my schedule. Are you free tonight?’

‘Yes. I came to Sydney for the sole purpose of meeting you.’

‘And if I’d refused?’ he asked brusquely.

‘I’d have posted you a detailed letter with the file and caught the next available flight to Spain.’

‘And wha—? No, not now. A hire car will be outside your hotel at five-thirty. I’ve booked a table. Goodbye, Ms Fletcher.’

He hung up, leaving her startled by his broken-off question. Understanding his scepticism, she swore to be honest—though she’d keep her past to herself unless it concerned the baby. Last night as she’d fallen asleep she’d sensed an elusive unidentifiable memory skip through her mind. Didn’t want any more.

* * *

Ethan drummed his fingertips on his desk. He’d meant to ask why she wore a ring—if there was a husband or partner in the picture. He’d been distracted by her impassive replies and had accidentally activated an email from Brisbane requiring an urgent reply. Hence his regrettable abrupt ending to the call.

His back ached...his brain spun. An evening on the internet researching surrogacy had raised more questions than it had answered. It hurt that they’d gone through so much heartache alone. Why hadn’t they reached out to him? Surely they’d known they mattered to him more than anything?